Bridge of the Legion
by jackass2
Summary: They were coming, through the bridge. They had to be stopped. And seven men stood up to the challenge.


I  
  
Lieutenant Shoreston stood up gallantly on the protruding foothold of the slave wagon, hanging from the wagon's edge as it rolled ahead. He looked ahead with pride at the caravan full of slaves. His general would be pleased with him as he always was, he thought to himself. Turning his head and ducking down slightly, he looked through the thick and slightly rusted iron bars of the side of his wagon at the fine breed of men he had found. While he wasn't one to defend the idea of slavery, his ambition outweighed his morals, for this time he had more than done his duty. Shoreston would be an average picture of a man upon first sight, were it not for his resplendently forged weapons and armor. He stood nearly six feet tall, with short sandy brown hair, a clean-shaven face, and somewhat unemotional, dull brown eyes. He was strong, but his muscles were subtle. The pounding heat that weighed heavily upon all of Ashkabaar and the frequent dust storms had rendered his skin coarse and tan, much like any simple man in the surrounding area.  
However, on the inside he was much more than just a simple man, with an aberrant history and an eminently promising future. He had been with the Ashkab army for little over six years, starting when he was just seventeen years old. In this time he had managed to build himself quite a reputation as a skilled fighter and leader, quickly bringing him to the officer rank, as well as creating many jealous enemies. Deriak Shoreston didn't quite know where he was born or whose womb had bore him, but the earliest possibility of a memory he could conjure had him wandering around, roaming the countryside as a young boy aimlessly and lost. He vaguely remembered kind people housing him and feeding him for nights before he continued his wanderings. He also remembered numerous aggressive indigents, he learned first-hand how to take care of himself through these harsh years. But this brutal lifestyle had ended one day, he was around thirteen years old, when he was fending off a starved thief, and an on looking wise man offered to take him in, obviously deeply touched by the desperate sight of young boy pushed to such extremes. After serious consideration, Deriak accepted. The man's name was Elysarr, and as Deriak, Officer Shoreston's real name, got to know him, he discovered that Elysarr had quite a history. He told fabulous tales of various wars he had fought in, the years he spent in faraway dungeons, futilely and constantly tortured for information until he managed to escape, he even entertained Deriak with some romantic tales from his younger years. And Deriak, being a cautious boy, wouldn't have believed many of these stories but then he saw how skilled Elysarr was with a weapon, how agile and tireless he was for a man who seemed rather old. But then, what was he doing in Kerilia, wandering almost as meaninglessly as Deriak was? Indeed, Elysarr seemed to have no job, no occupation, he and Deriak just traveled from town to town. Deriak didn't notice immediately how strange this was, for he himself had been a drifter, but eventually it struck him that Elysarr was only telling him half the truth. Being young, he didn't have the confidence or tenacity to ask about it, but he would spend much time contemplating the mystery of Elysarr. Soon after taking Deriak in, Elysarr asked him if he would like to be trained, and Deriak accepted excitedly. He had been fascinated by the art of fighting before, and now it became his life. They trained endlessly, day after day, from the martial arts to halberds. When they traveled, Deriak always made Elysarr let him carry almost everything, he wanted to grow stronger. After all, a stronger warrior was a better warrior. Sadly enough, a little more than two years after the kind man took him in, Elysarr died. He had always told Deriak that if one day he disappeared, Deriak should not try to find him, and that he would see him again after that day. So when that day came, Deriak obeyed his master's orders and began wandering again. He assumed that his tutor was dead, and that he meant Deriak would see him again in heaven when he died. But now he was alone and did not know where to go or what to do, and a veil of depression and confusion fell upon him. He had no way of getting legitimate money, so he started signing up for the illegal fighting tournaments that had become popular. Elysarr had taught him well, and he soon became a notorious and popular fighter in the underground gladiatorial tournaments. He almost never lost a fight, and he made a lot of money, but used it all almost immediately on unneeded luxuries which he had begun to acquire a taste for since the death of Elysarr. However, Deriak sometimes killed his opponents in the fight, not purposely but it happened. Soon the Kerilian guard was after him, and it wasn't very difficult to track him down. He managed to escape them, and knowing that the guard was well organized, decided to flee the country. He was near the southern border, and so he escaped into the desert. For two weeks he wandered through the desert, surviving on what barely edible plants he could find, he had learned some survival skills from Elysarr. Through his despair he regained a love for his life, and decided to stop living so unsteadily and get a stable job, if he survived in the desert. But, finally he stumbled into an Ashkab border-town. After rejuvenating himself in a kind mans house, he discovered that the army of Ashkabaar was recruiting in the town, and decided to try for the army. He knew he was a skilled fighter, and that he would do well in the army. Going to the recruitment center, he signed up as Deriak Shoreston, after all he needed a last name, and aced the fighting tests. He was immediately assigned to a certain Officer Rystal, who was going to fight a tough campaign against rebelling Westerners. Deriak was not one to be ordered around and so, as time went on, he began hating Officer Rystal. His unit traveled west, soon Shoreston had his first taste of battle, and he loved it. He had a lust for fighting, the one that drove him to train so hard. His obsession applied to real battles as well and while it was gory and terrible, and he felt deep anger and sadness whenever he lost one of his friends, it was somehow attractive. And then, in one of the final battles, Shoreston's rage took over him completely. Shoreston was fighting beside his Officer Rystal; they were the best two fighters in the unit. Shoreston slew the native he was fighting, and in his bloodlust he turned on Rystal and thrust his sword right through his Officer. At the end of the battle, when it was noticed that Rystal was dead, none of the minor officers were quite brave enough to take up the spot of command and when Deriak stood up none opposed him. He finished the campaign quickly and easily and returned to the capital of Ashkabaar. From there, Deriak was promoted three times and was now a Lieutenant. Through his military career, Deriak had acquired some rather nice equipment. Upon first glance you could see his wealth just by noticing his sword. The shining large katana hung from his leather belt, resting smugly in an intricate wooden sheath. The sword curved gently, and got gently wider as it went, until the tip where the two edges came together into a deadly, finely polished point. It had a slim hilt, he preferred them that way, and an ivory handle, with finger holds that gave him an almost unbreakable grip. It was only a one handed sword, and when he got enough money he was planning on buying another, and once he trained enough fighting with two swords, he would become about twice as dangerous as he was now. He wore expensive lightweight leather armor, reinforced along his shoulders, upper chest, and upper back, where it had saved him many times. Leather and brass gloves protected his hands. The brass only covered parts of his hand, and thickened around his fingers, which had saved him from a painful injury many times. His forearms were clad in shining, refined iron, custom made, guards. They were painted gold and shone brightly in the sun. On his back, hung two crossed daggers in intricate sheaths, which he practiced with the most. In a flash he could have those two daggers out and thrown- and they rarely missed. The sheaths were made of stiffened leather, curved to fit the shape of the daggers. They had a golden rim, which held the leather together, and a golden pattern going down one side. His daggers were thin diamond shaped blades, finely forged for effectiveness. They were larger than most daggers, which compromised the range, but also allowed him to fight with them as melee weapons if worst came to worst. He was stronger than most men though, and was an expert with throwing knives and daggers. He wore light shoes with hidden brass supports, and imperceptible steel toes and heels. A long time ago, when he was a wanderer, someone had slashed his foot, which prevented him from walking for over two months. The pain was excruciating and he could hardly walk. Ever since that he had worn over protective shoes. His shin guards matched his forearm guards. They were custom made by the same blacksmith, and fit comfortably and tightly around his powerful calves. They only covered the front of his legs, but a stiff leather plate, which he had fitted and made himself, covered the back of his legs. He usually wore heavy, loose shorts with inside leather, which reduced the impact of a blow to the thigh, and protected against most injury. With all this, and his skill, Deriak Shoreston was quite a formidable opponent, a pride of the Ashkab army. Few men could stand up to him.  
  
Deriak looked tiredly at the men within the wagon he was riding. Ten men, all with sufficient room, lay around comfortably but worriedly on the soft floor. It had cost him little to make the wagons comfortable, and it would probably be worth it. Most of his comrades in the army had a few skirmish rebellions among the slaves due to maltreatment, losing many men. This way they would have a peaceful ride to Sahòrto, the Ashkabaar capital, before the harsh forced labor that was inevitable.  
The wagon was large, and pulled by a full four kodos, bulky beasts that rarely ever needed a rest. About the length of two men, their heavy lumbering and seeming tiredness reminded Shoreston of the elephants that he saw in the emperor's display back in Sahòrto. Their behavior was a mystery to Shoreston, they seemed to have a humanlike conscious and awareness, unlike other animals, but at the same time they were rather dull and slow. He didn't pay much heed to it, it was just one of those strange things he wondered about during idle times like this. The kodos had been pulling the slave train at a quick pace since they had finished assembling slaves, so Shoreston decided to give them a short break.  
"Stop the caravan!" he yelled more than once to his resting soldiers. This was a pleasant mission for the small unit; most of it consisted of lying comfortably on top of the wagons, catching the hot rays of sun. Immediately after the soldiers ordered the kodos to stop, the caravan slowed to a halt. Deriak gave out generous rations to his men, and then went on to feed the prisoners.  
He didn't treat the slaves like dirt unlike others; he did feel remorse for what he was doing to them, but his ambition outweighed his morals. Most of the slaves either muttered angry words at him or just outright ignored his attempted amiability and ate the food. He was up to the third of the four wagons with slaves in them when it happened. He heard his men's jubilant chuckles as they merrily finished their vittles but their voices silenced abruptly. A second later he heard their yells and screams and his head was already turned to see several of them jump off the side of the wagon.  
"Cap! Cap, ambush! Jae's down!" It took Shoreston no time to realize that the attack was coming from his side of the wagon for his men had jumped to the other. He threw himself to the ground just in time; he almost felt the wind tickle his cheek ferociously, followed by the dull sound of an arrow thudding into wood. Now that he was down flat on the sand, he grabbed the edge of the bottom of the wagon beside him, and pulled violently upon it to help him roll under the wagon to the other side, again a spray of sand brushed his arm from an attacker's quiver as he began the roll.  
Once on the other side, he jumped to his feet immediately, ready to assess the situation and give orders to his men when suddenly he found the heavy iron barred door on that side of the wagon moving dangerously quickly towards his head, and again he launched himself back to the ground and away from the wagon. As he began stumbling back onto his feet, he looked up to see what had caused the doors swing, he saw one of the slaves, a large black man, quickly readying himself to jump out of the wagon. The other slaves cowered in the corners, trying to decide whether or not to make a break for it. The man who faced Shoreston now, ready to jump, had somehow opened the door on this side of the wagon, and as the other side was open, Shoreston could tell that his intentions were not solely to escape. The man was about four inches taller than Deriak, and his tight shirt displayed his strength with no modesty. He had very short hair, deep, intimidating brown eyes, and a somewhat jutting jaw. What baffled Shoreston was that he held a sword in each hand, and it wasn't even the kind his men used.  
There was no time to wonder about this however for the man jumped and grabbed the top of the open wagon's iron bar doorway with a few fingers he spared from gripping his swords, and swung himself up, almost like an acrobat, driving the momentum to do a back flip and land much closer than Shoreston anticipated. Adjusting quickly however, Deriak unsheathed his fine katana, he would have thrown a dagger but they were not with him at the moment, and slashed across at the landing adversary, it would have been enough to slay most men he had fought. But as he landed the black man swiped upwards powerfully with his left hand sword, obviously expecting the worst, deflecting the blow. Meanwhile, the slaves in that open wagon had stumbled out and were running for their lives towards the attackers, who yelled at them to assemble behind a certain dune.  
Shoreston was taken aback somewhat by the powerful parry and fell back, immediately he realized that this man was no ordinary fighter. So Deriak agilely sprang up narrowly avoiding a lunge, and the fight continued. The men circled round and round, advanced and retreated, lunged and parried. Swords flashed left and right, sparks scattering where they connected. An onlooker would have been dazzled by the brilliant reflections the sun made upon the quickly moving swords, but the men concentrated for one mistake could lose them their lives. It soon became quite apparent that Shoreston's opponent had the advantage; it was difficult for Shoreston to match up to two swords with one. He was being pressed back towards the caravan, and not the open wagon, so soon he would be pinned to the side of a wagon. Shoreston knew he could not win the fight down here and like this, so he decided upon a daring move. He roared and lashed out with the katana using all he could muster. The black man was unprepared and sluggishly parried, Shoreston felt the pressure loosen on his sword as his tremendous blow disarmed one of the man's swords and knocked him back momentarily. Seizing the little time he had, Deriak turned and jumped up, catching on to the top of the wagon, and pulled himself onto it. From his vantage point, he allowed himself a quick glance at his companions and attackers, down by the front of the caravan, to see what was happening. He saw his men in a formation moving towards the scattered archers, before turning back to find his opponent was no longer where he had just been. His twenty men had been clustered for some time behind the shelter of the two wagons they had jumped off, and having seen their officer was busy, they readied themselves to charge out in formation. Meanwhile, the enemy, some fifteen darkly dressed and lightly if at all armored archers, were coming around the front of the parked caravan, attempting to get the protected soldiers before they were ready. The mystery of the kodos appeared again, as they stood seemingly unaware or uncaring of the combat going on beside them. Several more enemy arrows were fired, two more Ashkab soldiers fell before they had their shields up and ran out in a rather strict formation, what looked almost like a tortoise, for they were highly disciplined and trained by Shoreston himself. About ten arrows clattered harmlessly off their shields before the archers began trying to fire arrows over and into the formation. The two archers stood in their path, aiming carefully through the gaps in the formations shields, when suddenly Shoreston's men uniformly broke into an all out sprint upon a yell from one of them. They overwhelmed the two archers, dispatching them quickly and then slowed again assessing how to go about getting the rest of the archers. Shoreston couldn't see his opponent, but then heard an explanatory sound from the other side of the wagon. Turning around quickly to defend, he saw the man coming quickly at him. Thinking quickly, Shoreston feigned a sweep at his opponent's legs, and in response his opponent jumped up, but he was still coming at Deriak ready to viciously swing. Shoreston ducked down and caught the man completely by surprise. As the black man was right over him, he heaved his back up with all his might. The man would have been flung off the wagon and probably would have snapped his spine if he had not lashed out fiercely with his elbow at Shoreston's back before it pushed into him. The blow crushed Shoreston, impedimenting his move to throw the man off, just nearly missing his backbone, and the rare feel of true pain came to him. Shoreston's opponent still clumsily went over the side of the wagon, but he managed to grasp the edge of it with the sword-less hand. Realizing he had to act quickly, he stabbed his remaining long sword into the side of the wagon, about at the level of his head. From there, he swung his leg up and put one foot on the sword, pushing off of it powerfully. He brought himself him quickly back up onto the wagon, yanking his sword out of the wagon and with him as he went. He did this all so quickly that he was ready in stance again before Shoreston recovered to attack him. Both men interrupted their intense battling faces to smile, not quite a friendly smile, but not a taunting ferocious smile either. They were both top fighters, and even Shoreston appreciated the smoothness and fluidity that his opponent had just displayed in getting back onto the wagon. After the pause, they both moved in at each other again, parrying and attacking left and right on top of a wagon, it was almost a surreal scene. Shoreston gained the advantage with a quick double blow, for now his opponent only had one sword, and forced the other man to the front of the wagon. The man cut downwards as he purposely dropped lightly off the wagon and out of site, landing on a kodos broad back. Finally alarmed, the beast began running, and the whole slave train began moving, shaking the heavy ground, beginning to pass the fighting units on the ground. The Ashkab soldiers had decided upon raw melee to continue the battle, they had broken formation and charged in at the archers. It would have won the battle quickly, or caused a retreat, but the enemy archers tossed their bows to the ground and reached to their backs, pulling out heavy two handed swords. They regrouped together, and an intense hand-to-hand combat ensued. Their sword skills matched their archery, and the battle was a deadlock, only a few men falling on each side. Shoreston's match pulled himself onto the wagon opposite Shoreston, balancing himself to the strong pull of the kodos. Pausing again, the two looked at each other, with the same idea. They both charged and jumped the gap between the two wagons, trying to get to each other, but the result was a clumsy and ineffective mid-air joust, neither of them thought the other was going to jump as well. They both turned agilely after landing and quickly started toward the edge, trying to get an advantage over the other, but both launched themselves to the other edge at the same time. This time they held their weapons ready, Shoreston with his sword around the side of his body, ready like a coiled snake for a single deadly strike. The other man held his over his head like a mighty beast. Meeting in the middle of the gap, their entire bodies twisted as they used all the force they had to make that one attack the last. As soon as the swords met, a violent repercussion flowed down them and into the arms of the two men, immediately snapping the weapons out of their firm grips.  
They crashed together along with the swords, and fell to the ground, toppling over the kodos. Quickly they jolted into a moving fighting stance, in the small space between the kodos, in time to resist getting run over. Shoreston's adversary threw the first punch and the fight resumed. They were both as heavily trained and quick, if not more so, with their arms and legs than they were with swords, but again they were matched equally. They dodged, blocked, and took some hits, all while moving along with the caravan in the confined gap between the two sets of kodos. They should have been exhausted from the long fight, but the exhilaration of the balanced fight was too great.  
Yet they knew their muscles needed oxygen, and they knew they had to end it. The black man had the front and back of two wagons at his sides. He flailed his fist out at Shoreston, not actually intending to strike, but to force the man to retreat slightly while he prepared his difficult move, and Shoreston did bounce back slightly. Immediately after swinging his fist wildly, the black man reached behind him to the kodo's back, and jumped up. With his arms supporting him through the kodo, he lashed both legs out at Shoreston's chest with colossal strength. But Shoreston had time to prepare, and he dodged farther back, against an opposite kodo's side, so that the black man's strike just grazed him slightly. Now Deriak seized his chance and grasped the other man's descending feet before they reached the ground. He pushed the feet forward with a formidable roar of strength, and while the man flailed his feet hard so that Shoreston had to let go, he was still thrust backward over the kodo. Shoreston bounded forward to follow the man, knowing that he could finish it now, vaulting over the big beast, onto the solid ground beside the caravan road. The man had taken a bad fall, and now out in the open sand, he stumbled backwards trying to get to his feet. Just as he did however, Shoreston drove into him, with his head ducked down, and his arms grabbing around the off-balance black man's lower chest. Shoreston plowed forward holding the man strongly, and bore him heftily right into the sand. Shoreston was on top then, and as he bashed the man's face inattentively with his left hand, he reached to his boot and flipped his army knife out. "You've lost," said Shoreston with a fierce look dancing across his face, as he held the knife down at the man's throat. He knew he wouldn't kill the man, he had gained too much of Shoreston's recognition to be killed like this. But then Deriak was startled: "So have you." His opponent said this with an ironic grin; he nodded down towards Shoreston's neck. Deriak looked down and saw the man's large, coarse hand holding a small knife at his throat. The black man's voice was a little deeper and more musical than Shoreston's. "Fair enough," Deriak paused before asking, "is it a draw then?" The black man thought momentarily. "It is." They silently understood each other there and then. Both respected each other, and the fight was over at a draw, so their issue was over. They both got up, dusting themselves off and the black man held out a more friendly than polite hand. "You're quite the match." Shoreston nodded to symbolize that he felt the same way. "Where did you learn to fight like that?" he asked. "Here and there," the man responded. Both already regarded the fight as a competition, and not even a fierce one at that. They traded formalities and names; the black man was called Lassick. "What are you doing working for the Ashkab army?" Lassick asked disbelievingly. "Well I needed something to do. and some money," replied Shoreston. Lassick raised his eyebrows. "Money? With them?" He snorted. Shoreston shrugged, he knew his Ashkab job was not very profitable; he made much more money as an underground tournament champion. "I'm assuming you work with those attackers?" Deriak asked, and he reminded himself of the battle that was still going on. He looked around realizing that the caravan had gone some way from the small battle between his men and the attackers while he and the Lassick were fighting; his men were out of sight. "Yeah, they hired me. I had myself get caught to lead them, dropped small buds of those Sahzi plants out of the wagon along the way, they have dogs that smell it very strongly, and they wanted to find out where the caravan went and attack it when you wouldn't be ready." "Why not just follow the tracks?" said Shoreston, knowing that the roads themselves were difficult to see, covered with sand. "You know how likely it is that at some point the wind would cover the tracks." Shoreston nodded and let his curiosity give in. "How much money do you make?" "Well, I mean I'm a mercenary, this was a small one time job. It paid nicely though, about four thousand crowns. You'd be surprised how much money the desert people have that the Ashkabs don't know about."  
Shoreston was impressed, and an idea, not fully new, came to mind. He decided to come out with it immediately "Well. uh. could you use a partner?" asked Shoreston so innocently that Lassick laughed.  
"I sure could, but in return could you take me to Sahòrto? I've always wanted to see it and going alone I'd be lost. They probably look out for me anyway," he joked.  
"Of course, Sahòrto is rather impressive-". Shoreston's eyes looked from side to side. "The caravan," he said curtly as he pointed toward the train of wagons that was moving away rapidly, already almost hidden by one large sand dune. They ran after it together, and caught up quickly, stopping the kodos. Together they let out all the confused but silently delighted slaves and told them to follow the track until they found their friends.  
They decided that they should each ride a kodo to the capital, they could bring some rations with them, the large tireless beasts could carry great loads. Riding a kodo required almost no training either, they were more obedient than a well-trained dog, and somehow it seemed. they understood you. Lassick seemed skeptical at first, but mounted one of them and discovered that there was nothing to it. Together they rode off to Sahòrto going only by Shoreston's instinct.  
"Eh, Deriak, think we'll reach it by morning?" Lassick spoke as if he and the man knew each other well, but it was just his way, he was a friendly person when you weren't fighting him.  
"We probably will," Shoreston responded, "The first thing you'll see is a towering white structure that was the emperor's gift to his wife." And Shoreston told him of Sahòrto as they road off into the setting sun on the kodos, the brilliant and almost surreal colors of sundown in the open desert casting dreamy expressions on their faces. 


End file.
